


It's Not Like That (Except How It Is)

by NoisyNoiverns



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Denial of Feelings, Drabble Sequence, Established Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saren is adamant that he has no feelings for Nihlus beyond the platonic, no matter who's asking.</p><p>AU where Nihlus and Saren both survive ME1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Like That (Except How It Is)

**Author's Note:**

> my canon now

**Cipritine, Palaven – 2152 Human Common Era**

Saren yawned and rubbed at his jaw, wincing as the muscles controlling his mandibles protested. “I really don’t see why I had to be up this early,” he groused, trailing behind his brother.

“What are you, twelve? The sun’s been up for an hour.” Desolas clicked his mandibles, turning his head to watch Saren.

Saren snorted. “Exactly.”

Desolas shook his head. “You should’ve stayed in mandatory the full term. You got three years, the Council pulls you out, and now you’re _still_ a little brat.” His subvocals thrummed with irritation, but there was an undercurrent of affection, so Saren wasn’t too worried.

He moved out of the way of any forthcoming reprimanding whacks upside the head anyway. Just to be safe.

“Besides,” Desolas continued, “I’m not going to pick up your boyfriend and take him to breakfast myself.”

Saren’s neck heated up so fast it hurt. “He is _not_ my boyfriend.”

“Right. And that look you get when he’s around is because you’re just _such good friends_ , huh?” Desolas dropped back to walk next to him, smirking. “You’re just _best friends_ , that’s why you look at him like you’d walk off a cliff if he asked you to, _because_ he asked you to.”

“I do _not_ ,” Saren protested, snapping his mandibles sharply in what he hoped was a menacing gesture.

Desolas just cackled. “Relax, little brother, I’m just teasing. That’s my job, you know.”

Saren snorted and lowered his head down into his cowl, then, after a moment’s thought, flared up his biotics and jerked his torso in Desolas’s direction, sending him slamming into the building a couple arm’s-lengths away. Desolas’s yelp was quickly cut off by the crash, and Saren laughed, long and low.

Desolas scowled, pushing himself away from the wall and shaking off his disorientation. “Little brat.”

“Takes one to know one.”

* * *

**Outside Cipritine, Palaven – 2158 Human Common Era**

Lieutenant- no, no, it was _Captain_  now, she was a captain, they’d promoted her but she still couldn’t quite get used to it, not after everything that had happened to warrant it- Valis Abrudas could handle battle. After months in the hospital, she could stomach medical procedures. But nothing could really have prepared her for Desolas Arterius’s funeral.

Despite being killed in an orbital strike, there was still a body, but she wasn’t quite sure if that made them lucky. Rather than being incinerated, Desolas had been trapped under debris, and the examiners hadn’t been able to conclude whether he’d been merely crushed, or if he’d suffocated to death. She didn’t know which would be worse.

She didn’t _want_ to know, either. But given his little brother’s fragile mental state following the incident, the information had instead fallen to her, as he’d indicated her as his next most-trusted person after Saren.

The really-higher-ups had been _very_ curious as to why the general had listed his right-hand officer, rather than a grandparent or friend, in the “in case you can’t get my baby brother” slot. She hoped the flush in her neck hadn’t been as obvious as she’d thought as she told them she didn’t know, as she lied about the nights she’d spent in Desolas’s cabin. Strategizing, not fucking. Planning exercises for the troops, not watching vids. Turians were more lenient about inter-officer relations than most, she knew, but it was still better to be safe than sorry.

She’d hovered around Saren for the first part of the funeral, watching as more of Saren’s own friends showed to offer their condolences and support. Mostly family Saren seemed distant toward; grandparents, cousins, the like. The primarch had shown for a couple minutes, then excused himself quietly to take a call. Chief Ambassador Sparatus had come in the councilor’s stead, though he’d quietly informed their little group that the councilor would be announcing her resignation within the month and had named him as her successor, so it was about as good as her coming anyway. A handful of Spectres had shown up with the ambassador, all of them turian, and Saren greeted most of them with the reserved warmth that said while he was glad they were there, he wasn’t exactly up for socializing with them.

The exception had been a ruddy maroon-plated and long-crested Spectre, taller and more sturdily-built than Saren, with a deep burgundy cloak draped over his shoulders and coming within a claw-length of dragging in the dirt. This turian Saren had clasped forearms with and touched their foreheads together, subvocals that had previously been muted now rolling out in waves, throbbing with pain and sorrow.

As the maroon hummed quietly and drew Saren closer into a proper hug, Abrudas had slipped away as graciously as her bad leg would allow, judging Saren would be perfectly safe with the newcomer.

Now, the ceremonies over and the guests starting to leave, she made her way back to the dais where what few ashes of the funeral pyre remained were being carefully swept off, eyes on Saren and his maroon friend. Saren seemed calmer now, sitting quietly on a bench while his friend talked. “Hey, kid,” she called, willing her limp to go away just for a few minutes so she could approach with a little more dignity. No such luck, of course.

Saren looked up briefly, then nodded and put his head back down, focusing intently on his hands in his lap. _Be patient with him_ , Desolas had told her once, and his voice rang in her head now like it had been that very morning. _He doesn’t like eye contact. Makes him uncomfortable. He’ll let you know if he’s listening._

Sure enough, Saren clicked his mandibles, his friend stopped talking, and she took her cue. “I have to be back in Cipritine in an hour for another check-up. You coming, or you gonna stay here with your boyfriend?”

Saren’s neck turned bright blue. “Kryik is _not_ my _boyfriend_. We’re _colleagues_.”

The other Spectre- Kryik, apparently- looked vaguely hurt, but to his credit, he arranged his face into nonchalance pretty quickly. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he said, bumping his shoulder against Saren’s in what she personally hoped was a reproachful manner. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

She fluttered her mandibles and nodded to him. “Thanks, kid. Kryik, was it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Nihlus Kryik, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance.”

A dim memory nagged at the back of her mind, and she folded her arms as she fished for it, then smiled wryly. “Oh, yeah, now I remember. Des mentioned you.”

Saren’s mandibles tightened against his face as Kryik fluttered his own. “He did?”

“Yeah.” Her mandibles spread wide in as big a grin as she could manage. “Said if we ever met, I was not, under any circumstances, to let Saren convince me he’s not _madly in love with you_.”

It was a pity the blast on Shanxi had devastated her leg as badly as it had. Being able to sprint away from Saren’s frustrated snarling and Nihlus’s choked laughter rather than hobble would have made the jab _much_ funnier.

* * *

**Eran Pezua Memorial Hospital, Kithoi Ward, Citadel Station – 2183 Human Common Era**

There were a great many things to do in the aftermath of Sovereign’s attack on the Citadel. On the professional end, Sparatus had half the Hierarchy to meet with and call, awards to bestow, and preparations for the new council seat to make. On a more personal note, he had to soothe more family members and friends than he remembered having that he was okay, a wife who had woken him night after night after horribly long night with screaming nightmares, a therapist to lie to, and Valern and Tevos to drink with in solemn, heavy silence.

Still, he did his best to make time to visit those he could in the hospital. He worked it into his routine, and it felt good to ease into a habit. Finish work, go to the hospital, give the usual form-letter speech to whichever C-Sec officers and fleet personnel hadn’t gotten it yet, drop in for a half-hour with whichever Spectre was available, say hello to his aunt and mother (doctors, not patients, thank the spirits), and vanish to go collect his granddaughter from school before his physician could find him and hound him about his less healthy habits (again).

Today was a special case. As he watched Saren and Nihlus from the other side of a window, quietly nuzzling their heads together and communicating in soft subvocals that didn’t quite reach through the glass, there was a clatter and a short yelp, somewhere to his left. He glanced up, then suppressed a groan as he recognized the mess of casts and bandages and far too much cheer hobbling in his general direction on crutches. “Shepard, aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

As he knew Shepard wouldn’t be able to understand the subvocals he’d been told non-turians felt in their chests rather than a proper cowl as nature intended, he tried to put his reproach more in his primary vocals instead. This didn’t deter Shepard in the slightest, as they looked up at him and grinned in a way that reminded him far too much of his own daughter. Funny how _blatant unrepentance_ translated across species like that. “Would you believe I got lost looking for the bathroom?”

_“No.”_

“Aw, darn.” Shepard tried to do that thing with their fingers Udina had said was called “snapping” them, but failed due to the casts on three of five, so they settled for a more turian gesture of clacking the hard metal parts together. Then they shrugged and continued making their way toward him, now actually aiming for him rather than happening to be going his way. “I was bored. Nothing on but asari soaps, and I just can’t follow stuff that goes literal decades for each season, y’know?”

Sparatus made a noise he hoped translated as understanding. “So you decided going exploring was a better option.”

“I was kinda hoping I’d find a vending machine or something, to be honest. A nurse mixed up my lunch with the asari next door, and by the time anyone figured it out, my enchiladas were halfway digested.”

They looked genuinely disheartened by that. Sparatus made a mental note to look up whatever an enchilada was. “I have time before I need to be on my way. Would you like an escort to the cafeteria?” he ventured, hoping they’d say no. His mother would _kill_ him if she found him helping a patient break the rules.

“In a minute,” they said, leaning up against the wall next to the window looking into Saren and Nihlus’s room. “It’s hard work lugging this much stuff around.”

“You don’t say.”

They made a face at him, then peered in the window. “Hey, is that-? So this is where they’ve been.”

Sparatus hummed. “Nihlus will be back on his feet within the month, the doctors said. He’s had worse. Saren, though… He’s going to need a lot of time.”

Shepard made a sympathetic sort of sound. “So, which of them requested they room together? Nihlus was just wild about Saren back on the _Normandy_ , was it him?”

“It was me, actually.” He coughed into a fist. “Saren was a Spectre before I was even an ambassador. I’ve worked with him for quite a while. For all he acts tough, he’s downright terrified of hospitals and doctors. I suggested to the doctors it might be best if Nihlus was in the room with him when he woke up, to keep him from panicking.”

“Was it?”

Sparatus considered for a moment. “Not as much as expected, but better than it could have been, I suppose,” he finally said. “He only cried when he woke up, rather than trying to claw any faces off.”

Shepard blinked. “How do turians-”

“Screaming, Shepard.” His cowl ached, rumbling exhausted subvocals as he remembered too many years of attempting to soothe upset children, and then grandchildren. “Lots and lots of screaming.”

“You have my pity, sir.” They coughed into their fist. “Sir, what’s… what’s going to happen to Saren? He wasn’t himself for that mess, I’ll vouch for it if you need me to.”

Sparatus sighed. “Thank you, Shepard, but that won’t be necessary. The Council has already spoken with Saren, and he’s accepted responsibility for his actions. While we understand his behavior was influenced by Sovereign’s indoctrination, he’ll still be suspended from Special Tactics and Recon for an as of yet undetermined length of time.”

Shepard made a noise Sparatus couldn’t determine. “So you’re not going to, like… execute him or anything?”

“Of course not. He’ll be kept under guard here until his treatment and surgeries are over with, then placed under house arrest until such time as the Council deems it appropriate to release him. And no, we don’t know how long that will be.”

Shepard nodded. “House arrest under… whose custody?”

Sparatus exhaled sharply through his nasal plates, fluttered his mandibles, and moved his jaw until the joint popped. “Nihlus’s.”

Shepard’s brow shot up, and what could only be described as a goony grin spread across their face. “Does that mean they’re a thing? I totally knew it, I _knew_ they were a thing.”

Sparatus hummed. “Yes, but don’t let Saren hear you say so. What’s that human saying, about the river that’s lovely this time of year?”

Shepard snorted. “Nile River, sir. As in _de_ -Nile.”

“I don’t get it.”

* * *

**Tayseri Ward, Citadel Station - 2195 Human Common Era**

Nihlus hummed quietly, stretching as best he could without disturbing the shape in bed next to him. Saren, he’d learned over the years, only _seemed_ like a deep sleeper, and had in fact mastered the art of jumping awake at the slightest provocation, no matter _how_ soundly he appeared to be sleeping.

Saren had been sleeping better and better with each passing year since the end of the war, and Nihlus considered it nothing short of a miracle. Even before Sovereign had gotten its hooks into him, Saren’s sleep had been plagued by tossing and turning, whimpering and screaming. Nihlus himself had been knocked out of bed on multiple occasions. But now, nearly a decade since the last Reaper had left, Saren could go nights, weeks, even months between nightmares. The Reapers were gone, Desolas’s death had been avenged, and Saren could finally rest.

Nihlus’s stomach growled, and Saren answered with a low grumble of his own. Nihlus grimaced as one of Saren’s eyes cracked open just a sliver. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep, I’ll just run out for coffee or something.”

Saren had never been very good at listening. Rather than closing his eye, he yawned and dragged himself into a more upright position. “Don’t bother,” he rumbled, squinting at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Nobody will be open at this hour. At least not anybody _close_.”

Nihlus quirked a mandible. “How would you know that?” he teased, headbutting him affectionately. “You always sleep ’til lunch.”

Saren groused something about bodyguard duty, and Nihlus chuckled, reaching up with one claw to trace the markings that had adorned Saren’s face for going on eight years now. Kryik markings, in Arterius blue to stand out against Saren’s lunar-white plates. “Then you stay and try to get a little more rest, and I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”

Saren considered this for about half a second before promptly tossing the covers off and getting out of bed, shaking out his neck.

Nihlus snorted. “Gee, thanks.”

Saren started digging through the closet, hugging himself with one arm in the way he always did when he was freezing but too proud to complain about the cold. “You cook meat too thoroughly and can’t balance flavors to save your life.”

“You’re just picky.”

“That’s what Desolas said after he burned three dinners in a row.”

Nihlus rolled his eyes, finally heaving himself out of bed to trail behind Saren. “Fine, fine, go ahead, if you insist.”

Saren ignored him, now trying to adjust his shirt and look at himself in the mirror at the same time. Nihlus wandered up behind him to help, gently tugging fabric into place and moving folds that had gotten hung up on spurs. While Saren fidgeted, Nihlus rested his arms on Saren’s hip spurs, tucking his head into the space between his cowl and his neck. “So,” he murmured against Saren’s skin, “still insist we’re not a couple?”

He felt the vibrations in Saren’s neck before he heard the words they formed, and his own neck thrummed as it absorbed the soft, affectionate subvocals that gave them tone. “Go back to bed, Nihlus.”


End file.
